Breach by W.L. Goodwater

Author:W.L. Goodwater
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2018-11-05T16:00:00+00:00

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When his fingers dropped the pocket watch, the colonel immediately reached up to his nose. The bleeding was significant this time. This subject was strong. The American fought with an admirable will, though he could not know what he was truly fighting against. It did not matter. They all broke in time, but time was something he had precious little to spare.

Leonid was at his side, pressing a handkerchief into his hand. He took it and held it against the flow. Magic was a high-priced whore; he knew that well. The headaches, the nosebleeds, the tremors in his fingers. You could not rewrite the rules of men’s minds without spilling a great deal of ink, but that was why he had been sent. That was why he had been born.

“Did it work?” Leonid asked.

The American was slumped over in his chair, his whole body slick with sweat. The colonel’s ears still rang from his screams. They always screamed, though they did not realize it. It was an animal reflex, the only part of them that knew what was really happening, the only part that understood the true depth of the violation.

“Yes,” he said. “He is prepared.”

He heard footsteps behind him: Kirill, returned from his task at last.

The bleeding stopped, so he tossed the rag aside and stood on unsteady legs. It was getting harder, or more likely, he was getting weaker. Age was the one demon no one could outrun. He knew this, had seen it work its terror on those who came before. But with the throb in his temple and the ache in his joints, he wondered how he had let the blasted thing sneak up on him.

“They are ready for you,” Kirill said.

I doubt that, he thought. “Then let us welcome them.”

The magicians waited in a musty room guarded by filing cabinets standing in ranks like soldiers. He wondered what delicate secrets were locked away here, if one had the time to sift the wheat from the chaff. In a way, that was exactly what he was about to do. He needed to know what caliber of men he had at his disposal.

When he entered, the magicians tensed as if preparing for a blow. This was bittersweet. It was important that they fear him if he was to make them do their duty, yet if they had come bearing good news there would be no reason to fear. A pity then.

“I will not keep you long,” he said. He spoke quietly, forcing them to move closer to hear him. “I can sense that you still have much work to do.”

They exchanged nervous, uncertain glances. Men without a leader. A sad sight.

“I do not need to tell you that things in the city are deteriorating. You can hear the mob yourself. If it comes to war over Berlin before your work is done . . .” He let those words hang over them like the noose at the gallows. “Moscow would be immeasurably displeased. And steps would need to be taken to vent this displeasure.

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